


Physician

by breadface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aunt May is the best, Gen, Introspection, Parker Luck, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Rated teen for language, Whump, more of a 'what if peter had Feelings about ben', not bashing ben, wanted to make that clear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadface/pseuds/breadface
Summary: For years and years, Peter tried to follow Ben’s words, to use the power that he has to protect Queens and New York. He owed it to the city and Ben to do his best.-Peter struggles with learning how to fit being Spiderman and Peter into his life. May helps.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Physician

**Author's Note:**

> taken loosely from bits and pieces of spidey cannon, a mishmash of tasm and mcu since those are the ones i’ve seen, but it’s been awhile so the details might not be right  
> warning: no beta, description of shortness of breath, blood, injuries and ben’s death (briefly)

Peter hates Ben. No, that’s not quite right. Peter hates Ben for what he did to Peter.

And Peter feels guilty, god,  _ so fucking guilty _ for thinking that. Ben raised him, loved him, and became his dad in all but name. Ben was the one he went to when he had a nightmare, the one he clung to when storms were too loud, when the shadows were too dark. Ben was his rock. Ben was solid. He represented kindness in the face of adversity. 

But damn if the man didn’t screw Peter over with his dying words. Peter hated him for that. For years and years, Peter tried to follow Ben’s words, to use the power that he has to protect Queens and New York. Spiderman had the power, and therefore the responsibility to save as many people as he could. He owed it to the city and Ben to do his best. 

After all, how can he not follow Ben’s dying words? Everytime Spiderman failed, it felt like Peter was going against Ben’s last words, like Spiderman was stepping on his grave. Ben died because of Peter that night, and how can you refuse to promise a dying man to be  _ good? _ Ben was everything that Peter knew; everything that was right and good about the world came from Ben and May, and one of them was dying in front of him, bleeding out,  _ life leaving his eyes, fingers growing slack- _

Peter hated what Ben asked for with his dying breath.  _ Spiderman _ became all he could be after Ben, because Spiderman was built on Ben’s goodness, on how he always carried bandages for Peter’s various scrapes and bruises, and how he always yelled at the neighbourhood drunks when they were making a racket outside past midnight. 

Spiderman never tried to be as kind as Ben. Flint Marko didn’t deserve  _ kindness _ .

After Marko, Spiderman continued to stop bullies. But Spiderman only knew how to bash bad guys’ heads in, string them up, stop them from giving people scrapes and bruises and  _ more _ . 

Because Ben asked him to. 

Because Ben’s breath was so wet and gargled when he asked. 

So Spiderman had to.

Every time Spiderman couldn’t stop a thief, everytime the bad guy of the week got away, Spiderman felt Ben’s words. It’s Spiderman’s  _ responsibility _ , says Ben’s warped and gurgly voice. He had to do it, because he had the  _ power _ . 

_ (He didn’t do it when it counted, though. Not when it mattered, for Ben.) _

So Spiderman continued on, bashing heads in, web the bodies up, stop the bleeding as much as possible. Nevermind the blood on his own body, the scrapes and  _ bruises and cuts and broken bones, the dislocated joints and concussions and burns-  _

Those didn’t matter. Not when he saved that little girl from the bus that came out of nowhere, and certainly not when he stopped crumbling buildings from crashing into streets when the Goblin went on one of his bombing streaks. It didn’t matter so long as no one died because of him. ...Who was he kidding, people got hurt, people died. Spiderman knew you couldn’t avoid them when buildings came down, but he tried his damn best and those who were saved looked at him like what he did mattered and that helped, just a bit. 

It didn’t stop making the Ben-shaped hole in his soul hurt less. How he longed for those eyes that looked at him with gratitude to be Ben’s. _ But they would never be Ben’s because he was dead and six feet in the ground. All because of Spiderman’s stupidity and lack of responsibility. Ben was dead and there was nothing Spiderman could do about it, even with all the power he had. _

-

Breathing became hard sometimes, when Spiderman thought about Ben. Spiderman would stare up at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars that he and Ben stuck up there when he just moved in and couldn’t sleep because the apartment didn’t creak the same way as his own did. They stayed up there, even as they lost their advertised glow, even as Spiderman grew comfortable existing in the dark.

Breathing became hard in the house that was now creaking in a familiar cadance, and the urge to move, to stretch, became overwhelming.

When Spiderman does leave his room with the stars that didn’t glow anymore, his breaths become useless. Mechanical inhalation, exhalation. The exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide still happens, but it does nothing to help Spiderman  _ breathe _ . It’s so hard to breathe without feeling the pressure of the atmosphere, crushing your lungs in. If oxygen content determined the size of spiders, why wasn’t Spiderman the size of an ant? There wasn’t enough  _ air _ .

Spiderman chokes on the impossible reality of thin air at sea level as he climbs out the window and up, up to the rooftops. There. It’s a little better.

The lights that never stop shining no matter the hour, the streets that still echo with footsteps and engines noises from the day, the sky that’s so close and big and overwhelming. Spiderman is the most comfortable in the dark now, but New York City’s darkness is always relative.

The city welcomes its hero with the sound of fists hitting flesh and bones, a pained grunt. There. That way. 

You learned from the best, Spiderman.

Go get ‘em.

-

Spiderman finds his breath as he dives from a skyscraper, freefalling and shooting a line of web at the last second. His toes threaten to scrape the pavement as the arc of the pendulum brings him up, up into the sky, launching him higher as he detaches his web.

Spiderman falls, down, down to the ground.

In, out. 

Web there, pull hard.

In, out.

Release, fly.

In,

out.

Breathe.

Spiderman finds his breath in between the towering buildings of his city at the dead of night, in the kicks he gives and the punches he takes. He finds that the pressure of the atmosphere returns to something bearable, and the cosmic entity has finally remembered to turn the oxygen valve up high. 

By the fifth punch to the shoulder, Spiderman feels less like an ant about to be squished by a slipper and more like a dish towel, wrung dry and hung there to dry. By the second split knuckle, Spiderman’s lungs remember how to work without guidance. 

_ In, out. _

_ You remember how to do this. _

-

Spiderman climbs through his bedroom window as the digital clock hits 3:32 a.m., always five minutes faster. His bedroom door is open, and a warm, low light spills from beyond the door frame. 

Spiderman changes into his pyjamas again, a giant shirt with an atrocious shade of orange, and a pair of old basketball shorts. He hobbles out to the living room because Spiderman didn’t land that last kick very well.  _ (Your mentors taught you better than to give a sloppy kick.) _

May sits on the sofa, holding a cup of warm water and covered by a blanket. She looks like she woke up from the noisy clambering  _ (“You really should’ve done better on that last flip, those smarting ribs made sneaking through the window decidedly un-spiderlike”).  _ May couldn’t have been there long though, the cup was still fogging up her glasses.

May smiles at him, and Peter sits next to her, melting into the blanket and stealing her body heat.  _ (“Spiders can’t thermoregulate, bug boy, so remember to wear an extra layer when the weather gets cold, alright?”) _

“Give me your hand,” May holds out hers, palm up, strong, but smaller than Peter remembers. May cleans up his knuckles  _ (three split in total, you could stand to punch better, kiddo) _ and checks over his bruises and scrapes. 

It’s while May checks over his ribs that Peter blurts out, “I want to be better.”

May says nothing, moving her fingers over the splotchy purple skin that’s going to turn an ugly shade of yellow come morning, pressing occasionally. Nothing’s broken, Peter knew, but it was better to focus on May’s examination than on her silence.

“You should take better care of your body, Peter,” May said. It’s nothing she hasn’t said a hundred times, but the reprimand still hurts more than the punches he took tonight, somewhere soft and fleshy, near his stomach. 

“I want to, but the people out there can’t win these fights, May. They’re not enhanced, and Spiderman is, and I’m not good enough to avoid those hits,” Peter said quietly. This part of the conversation was not new as well, but rarely was it spoken out loud. These words usually lived in his head, or were implied in meaningful silences after fighting with more experienced vigilantes.

“Peter, I’m not asking Spiderman to be better in a fight; I’m asking  _ you _ , Peter, to take better care of yourself,” May sighs, and the sound tightens up his lungs again. The pain near his stomach grows, and Peter’s suddenly aware of all the scrapes and bruises he got from patrol.

“I’m sor-”

“You don’t have to be sorry for being Spiderman, Peter. He’s part of you. Spiderman does so much good in this world, he’s saved so many lives. You’re Spiderman to so many people in this city and I can’t take that away from them, or from you. Spiderman sacrifices his time, energy, and  _ homework _ for the betterment of New Yorkers,” She ruffles his hair, “And I’m proud of him for doing that. Not the homework part, but I know Spiderman tries his best.

“But Peter, you’re not Spiderman to me. You’re not Spiderman to Ned or your friends either. Sure, Spiderman gets beat up, but  _ Peter’s  _ the one who comes home to me with swollen knuckles and smarting ribs.  _ Peter’s  _ the one who goes to school and says hi to his friends with bloodshot eyes and a tender ankle. You don’t deserve to hurt that much, and everyone who cares hurt when they see you hurting as well. That’s why those mentors of yours are always telling you to be better, Peter. They don’t want to see you hurt because you gave up protecting yourself to protect someone else. Your responsibility to them, to your friends, to  _ me _ is to try to prevent yourself from getting  _ hurt _ .”

May’s voice got wobbly at the end, and Peter takes the chance to glance up at his aunt. Her eyes are wet, but she isn’t crying. Good. Peter’s going to start crying as well if May cries. The feeling that used to be hurt travels from his stomach to between his lungs, settling as a stretchy feeling beneath his breastbone. Peter curls up even closer to May’s warmth, like he used to when he was 8 and his nightmares got scarier with age. He doesn’t fit anymore, hasn’t for a decade, but tucking into May’s shoulder still makes him feel safer than hiding behind Cap’s shield. The silence is punctuated by the sounds of delivery trucks passing by, the clock ticking, and the neighbour’s baby that never stops crying, no matter the time of day. New York never really quiets down, even when it’s dark.

“I’ll try to be better, May. I’ll try.”

“I know you will, honey. You just need to remember why you’re doing this,” May’s hand smooths down his shirt and lands on his shoulder, warm and strong. “You’re not doing this because being Spiderman’s your responsibility, Peter. You’re doing this because you’re good and you hate seeing people hurt. You’re doing this because you have the ability to help a lot of people stop hurting,” She squeezes Peter’s shoulder and dumps her half of the blanket onto Peter before standing up. 

“Now get off the sofa, I have a shift tomorrow morning and you have school. We both need sleep.”

Peter gathers up the blanket and unfolds from the sofa as well, chest still pulling a little. He turns off the light and hobbles back to his room, but he turns around and says, “Thank you, Aunt May.” 

May waves him off with a smile and closes her door, and Peter feels the last of the pulling and breathlessness dissipate. It’s going to be sunrise soon, but Peter still lies down on his bed and stares at the glow in the dark stickers that don’t work anymore.

Spiderman has the power, so it’s his responsibility to stop people from hurting others.  _ Peter _ swings around getting shot at because Peter hates seeing other people get hurt. Peter  _ uses  _ Spiderman to save people. Spiderman has his responsibilities, sure, but Peter has his as well. 

Somewhere along the line, Spiderman’s presence in Peter’s life became so overwhelming that Peter forgot how to exist in his own skin, to enjoy breathing in and just  _ being _ without giving. Tomorrow, Peter’s going to try to figure out what responsibilities Peter Benjamin Parker has, but right now, he’s going to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> spider, save thyself!  
> alternately titled: local teenager struggles with learning self care  
> -  
> this came from wondering how peter would fare if he had Feelings at ben for saying the power/responsibility line  
> I’ll leave it up to your interpretation on whether peter actually dislikes ben for that or if it’s just repressed issues, but rest assured he feels Very Bad about it either way


End file.
